


At some point every rose has to die

by fangirliest



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Do I know what this is? No. Do I care? Also no., F/M, Gen, Holocaust, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mutual Pining, Not Really Character Death, Original Character-centric, Slow Burn, Suicide, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirliest/pseuds/fangirliest
Summary: Kathleen gave up her life to protect to innocent children of Europe from the Nazis. When the Man in the Moon informs her her of her name and her mission to protect the children, she has no idea what's going on. A certain winter spirit helps her through the struggle of not being believed in, and they help each other help the children. Takes place from 1944-2012 and onwards.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first published work on ao3, so go easy.  
> I've been on a Rise of the Guardians kick recently, and I've been doing a lot of research on the Holocaust for school. I had an idea for an OC that combined the two, and here we are. The work title is from The Script's "We Cry". On a more serious note, this chapter has a few non-graphic depictions of blood, death, and suicide. If the more serious and disturbing bits of the Holocaust aren't for you, I'd suggest skimming this and the next chapter, though, once again, the depictions are non-graphic.

The first thing I notice when I come to is that I am in pain.  
So much pain.  
So much pain, in fact, that it feels like daggers are being shoved into my skin everywhere I have it.  
And then suddenly, it stops. I am warm. I am calm. And the moon is smiling down at me through my window as I hear it speak to me.  
“Do not be afraid,” it says, “Your name is Kathleen. Protect the children. Honor your cause.”  
And then it is gone. Slowly, memories come to me.  
Memories of children clinging to my skirt as I press them into me and whisper to keep still. Memories of wading through sewers and carrying babies in my arms to boats in which they would escape. Memories of children calling me “Mother” because they longed for one so badly and I was all they had. Memories of creating brand new lives for little ones and writing down who they used to be in hopes they'd be able to come back. Memories of being terrified and praying to anyone who could hear me that the Nazis wouldn't catch me and my wards. And finally, memories of passing off records and slitting my wrists so the Gestapo could never torture the children's locations out of me.  
I look down at myself and see my familiar red dress and brown boots. What I wore the day I died in hopes I'd be buried in them. But from what I can tell, there will be no body to bury because I am still here. I walk out of my mother's and my small apartment into the hallway. Seeing my elderly neighbor, I call out.  
“Pardon me Mrs. Wiez,” I say, “But have you any idea if the Gestapo have come by today?” She doesn't answer, still fiddling with her key, so I reach out to touch her shoulder. “Mrs. Wiez?”  
But my hand passes right through her.  
I leap back in surprise, stumbling over myself and falling back onto the floor. I scurry back into the apartment to my room and grab the knives I used from the puddle of my blood. I wipe them off on the drapes and tuck one into each boot. Suddenly, I feel more powerful, though I don't know why. I see the cars I knew would be coming all day come screeching to a halt in in the street below, and though I have a sneaking suspicion they wouldn't see me if I went downstairs and waltzed right out the front door, I still wait until they have all burst through the front door of my building to climb out my window and onto the roof.  
As soon as I pull myself up I nearly fall off. There is a boy with pure white hair, no older that I, sitting on the chimney crying.  
“Sir? Are you alright?” even though evidence suggests he won't hear me.  
His head shoots up and looks straight at me, which I had not been expecting.  
“You can see me?” he asked clearly shocked.  
“You can see me?” I respond, still unsure of what exactly is going on.  
“Wait, are you a spirit?” he questions, now seemingly as confused as I am.  
“That would make sense. I did kill myself about an hour ago. But I don't seem to be dead. I thought I would just go on to heaven or hell or something of that sort, not still here where apparently I don't fully exist.”  
“You killed...yourself?”  
“To protect the children. I know where they are, and I won't give the Gestapo the chance to torture that out of me.”  
“You must be a Guardian then.”  
“Like a guardian angel? Humans can't become angels...I'm sorry I didn't hear your name.”  
“Sort of but not quite. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. And it's Jack. Jack Frost.”  
I laugh. “Your real name. Jack Frost is a children's tale.”  
He quirks an eyebrow, “Do I look like a children's tale to you?”  
The thumping below us I'd registered at the back of my mind gets louder as I hear what can only be a door being broken down. Jack must see the pain in my face because he lifts the staff I hadn't realized he'd been holding and grabs me around the waist. Before I know what's happening I am flying through the air with him.  
It's exhilarating.  
Finally, we land in a field miles away from Amsterdam. He lets go of me and I instantly grab onto him for balance. Steadying myself, I turn to him.  
“Alright Jack Frost. Tell me what your story is and I'll tell you mine.”  
He nods and collapses. I sit down next to him and he begins to talk.  
“My name is Jack Frost. I know because the moon told me so. I don't really know anything else about myself, except that I can use this staff to control snow and ice and frost. So for the last two hundred and fifty-two years, I've brought winter to the world. Mostly for the children. They love to play in the snow, they have so much fun doing it. And a lot of the time, even though I hate doing it, I'll let the snow freeze them to death because it's an easier way to go than a disease, or starvation, or being worked to death, or being burned, or being shot like they are in the Nazi camps. Most children are miserable these days because things are so terrible. I hate it. And I can't help them, really, because they don't believe in me so I can't be seen or heard or felt by them try as I might. And I hate it.”  
Jack begins to cry again, and it breaks my heart. I reach out to touch his shoulder, and before I can stop myself I've pulled him into my chest the way I did with the children who missed their families in our long trips to orphanages and country houses.  
“You helped them so much,” I say into his hair as he cries, “My name is Kathleen. I protected children. I would bring them from Amsterdam and Germany and everywhere I traveled under Hitler's rule to somewhere safe. They loved it when it snowed. We'd bundle them up and take them on long trips to safe places, and everytime we took a break they'd play in the snow. Making snowmen and throwing snowballs at each other, they loved it so much. You helped them so much.”  
He cries himself to sleep and I lay back with him still on top of me. I am tired too. So I sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again loves.  
> Feel free to take a guess at her center.  
> This chapter contains non-graphic references to starvation and freezing and death in general. Once again, if you are bothered by the Holocaust, I suggest skimming, though before the line break there's nothing I'd think would be triggering. I won't have to give that warning next chapter though, don't worry.

Waking up feeling rested is strange. I was only 12 when the war started, already staying up too late with books most nights. Then I started helping the resistance when I was 15, and getting home before midnight was a miracle. I only got about an hour of sleep those nights, the fear keeping me up.  
Jack stirs next to me in the field, pulling me out of my thoughts.  
“I haven’t needed a sleep like that in ages,” he says, “Strange.”  
“What do you mean?” I ask, unsure of how he can even tell how long we’ve been asleep.  
He looks over at me, and I see a hint of a smile come to his face. “Spirits like us, we’re immortal. We don’t need sleep, or food, or drink, ever really. Except when we’re extremely cold, or hot, or tired. The only thing that I ever really need is sleep considering...” he looks down at himself and back at me, “...Jack Frost.”  
“How else is being...like this...different from being a human?”  
“Well, I don’t really know what being human is like exactly, but you generally have at least a few abilities. I can control ice and snow, and I can ask the wind to help me fly. But most of us need power conduits to do so. I have my staff.”  
“And I have my knives,” I say, remembering the surge of power I’d felt earlier, “I suppose we can figure out abilities as we go.”  
Jack stands, and offers a hand to help me up. I take it gladly,and dust myself off before assessing our surroundings. I think we’re somewhere in the Netherlands, judging by the windmills in the distance. I stretch my arms high above my head, feeling my spine crack.  
“Alright,” I say, “What can I do to help the children?”  
Jack turns to me, a bit surprised, but I can see a mishmash of other emotions flicker through his eyes. “You can’t.”  
“What?”  
“You can’t directly influence them unless they believe in you. And I doubt they’ll believe in some dead girl who somehow ended up as a spirit less than 48 hours ago.”  
It takes all of my self control not to scream and stamp my feet right there. But I am not a child. I am 17 years old. I grew up fast. And I do not get mad and sad and throw temper tantrums because I can’t do what I want. I’m better than that.  
Or at least, I’m pretty sure I am.  
But I can’t keep it all in, so I begin to storm away, the rising sun right in front of me, knowing that I must get to the children in hiding and the children in cages. I must help them, however I can.  
…  
I cover too many miles in too little time, it’s barely noon by the time I arrive in Poland, an impossible feat but one I have accomplished.  
I walk through streets and buildings, nearly all of them empty, searching for anyone in need of help. I find a family hiding in a barn, all starving, and all shivering. I know it is Jack’s duty to bring cold, and I know it is the most painful thing he does, but I can’t help but resent him as I wrap me arms around the two boys as best I can, considering they go right through me, and try to warm them.  
The children seem to calm, the shivering decreases by a smidgen, and they fall into a deep sleep. I look over to the mother, smiling sorrowfully at her children and her husband, and holding a bundle of rags. For a second I am angry. Why is she not warming her children? Why is this bundle of what is most likely jewels or gold more important? What will she buy? She can’t go out in public.  
But I look closer, and see...oh how I was wrong.  
There is a baby, crying pitifully and silently, no doubt aching for milk its mother cannot produce.  
I gently release the boys from my embrace, giving them each a kiss on the hair, and press my hands to the infant’s face. It stills, the silent sobs ceasing to wrack the ribs I doubt can really support them. I close my eyes, trying to transfer hope, and light, and love, and warmth, and contentment into this child, but most of all, faith. Faith that this tiny little thing will make it out, feel the sun upon its face, food in its belly, and no fear anywhere in its soul.  
The child’s eyes close, its breathing evens, and the slightest of smiles comes to its face.  
I murmur a prayer to Saint Nicholas, hoping that this baby will have support from all its patrons, and from its God. And my God too. And my patrons. I want this pale, thin, little mess of skin and bone to survive and fight until this war ends will a bullet in Hitler and love in ours hearts.  
And I allow myself to cry, just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ky for being the best "You're really writing RotG fanfic? Fine I wanna read it."-er ever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves!  
> I realized that I don't have any cursing in the other chapters, but there is some in this one and there will be in pretty much all the ones after this. Be warned that this chapter discusses body image and like low-key weight issues so if you're not into that ish, go ahead and skip! One or two mentions of child abuse.

I’m standing on top of the Palace of Versailles, watching people celebrate their freedom in the streets. Jack stands next to me, smiling as wide as I am, if not wider. He’ll always have a shit-eating grin, I’ve realized. When he’s not miserable that is. Ever since D-Day, the sadness has been slowly leaving him.  
Me, I can’t remember time before the sad very well, and I’m not sure how you’re supposed to feel when you lay down to sleep at night (not that I ever really do that anymore). I suppose my current euphoria means the sadness is leaving me too.  
Jack sinks down into a strange sitting-leaning position. I carefully drop to sit on my knees next to him.  
“Why are you still here? Why have you stayed with me? You can get around on your own. You know how to be an immortal. There's no reason!”  
I can barely keep myself from guffawing right in his face. I think a few giggles slip out anyway.  
“Because dummy,” I say, “I like spending time with you. You're fun to be around. I can vent to you. You don't think I'm annoying. It's a great deal.”  
“Oh,” he says, like he didn't consider the possibility of me liking him ever in his life.  
This time I do laugh.  
“You're the best friend I ever had! Seriously! I love you!”  
He blushes, and pulls something out from a pocket in his cloak. “This is for you. I found it with some clothes someone dumped in the street, and it seemed really nice and decently warm, so I cleaned it off in the river and hung it up to dry and I just thought it would look nice on you…”  
“Shhhh. I love it.”  
That shit-eating grin returns.  
“You're gonna need it if you wanna hang with Jack Frost.”  
…  
I’ve always hated seeing parents hit their children. I know it’s the standard method of punishment for pretty much any child, but I just...I think it’s wrong. You don’t hit your friends for being a smart-ass, do you?  
But now that I’m no longer as focused on Europe, I’m seeing the odd ways people mistreat kids everywhere.  
Jack had to bring winter to the southern hemisphere and it’s way too much work to get me across whole oceans every few hours. So I'm currently sitting in an American girl’s bedroom while she stares at herself in the mirror. She’s only in her undergarments, and she keeps pinching the sides of her stomach and sighing.  
“Mr. Clarke is right. I’m so ugly,” she whispers, “Brown hair? Boring. Brown eyes? Boring. Buckteeth, small eyes, unibrow, big ears, fat, I'm hideous.”  
She falls back on her bed and grabs a pillow, holding it against her stomach, and I swear I see a few tears in her eyes as she continues muttering. I pull my cardigan closer, looking down at myself. It’s only been a year since I died, but I don’t remember much about my life anymore. Did I look at myself like this? Surely not after I joined the resistance…  
“This isn’t about me,” I think, “it’s about her.”  
So I turn to her, and I stroke her hair as she cries quietly. “Are you joking?” I ask, “You’re gorgeous. Each of your 'flaws' just makes you prettier. Forget about that custodian. He’s a disgusting pervert anyway.”  
She doesn't hear me, obviously. But as I keep stroking her hair she stops crying. After a few minutes, she gets up and pulls her dress back on. I follow her downstairs to see her call her friend, and the happiness slowly comes back to her face.  
“Hey Darce,” she says, “Does the offer to go get ice cream still stand?...Uh huh...Yeah...I don't know why either...Uh huh...See you then!”  
She quickly hangs up and dashes back to her room to pull on her shoes and put up her hair.  
“You look perfect.” I say as I hug her, or at least attempt to.  
She smiles, content, as she looks in the mirror again. “Ok,” she says, “I look ok.”  
“I'll take it,” I say to myself.  
She leaves the house with her little purse and I follow her until she meets her friend.  
She'll be alright.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ready to meet the Easter Kangaroo? Sorry if his dialogue is weird, I...don't understand Australian accents. Warnings for insecurity, and that's it! Yay!

I'm not...surprised when I fall down a hole into a huge cavern. Obviously, stranger things have happened.  
It's still a bit confusing, though, looking at all the tiny eggs running around and jumping into a lake full of paint. I straighten up and dust off my clothes, observing my surroundings.  
It's the middle of winter, but this cavern seems to be in full spring. The grass is green, the flowers are in bloom, and the trees are bright and full. I'd love it if my favorite season wasn't winter.  
Looking around I also see huge stone eggs with carved happy faces. They seem to be making their way towards me, and they start to turn their heads to show off their angry faces. I start to back up slowly, which eventually turns into a run.  
Right into a six foot tall rabbit with a sash full of boomerangs. And one in his hand.  
An Australian rabbit, I realize as he starts to talk.  
“Well lookie here. A little Sheila's wandered into my warren. Kids your age don't usually believe, so how’re you here?”  
“I just fell down a hole and landed here! Wherever here is.”  
“Doesn't answer my question Sheila.”  
“I'm a spirit. My name's Kathleen.”  
He lowers the boomerang, and places it back into the holder on his sash. “You're the one I've heard is hanging with Frostbite aren't cha? The name's E. Aster Bunnymund. Bunny. Commonly known by the children of the world as the Easter Bunny. Thanks for stopping by Kathleen, but I've got a holiday to prepare for.”  
He taps his foot on the ground twice and a hole opens under my feet. Suddenly I'm falling through another tunnel, until I shoot out through the air and land of my back in the middle of a German forest.  
Grumbling, I start walking back towards Holland. I could use some crisp Dutch air right now.  
The Easter Bunny. Definitely not who I told the orphans about when we were helping them fake Catholicism. I had always thought of him as a tiny little bunny who carried a basket on his back. But Jack Frost is only a teenager. And Sandman is a mute little man who always wins at rock, paper, scissors. I wonder what Santa is like? Or the tooth fairy?  
What about Mother Nature? Jack of the famous jack o'lanterns?  
The Boogeyman?  
I feel as if I've heard Jack mention them in passing, but I'm not sure.  
…  
Jack Frost stands on the tip of a mountain and considers.  
Kathleen is the most gorgeous girl he's ever seen. But she's still such a young immortal, he'd feel strange in a relationship with her. And she probably doesn't even feel the same way. Even Santa doesn't care about him, considering he never gets Christmas presents.  
Why would Kathleen ever like him? Kids don't even believe in him.  
They don't believe in her either but that's beside the point.  
He's just a dumb kid. No one would ever love him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A'ight babes, get ready for some CHARACTER/PLOT DEVELOPMENT!  
> Sorry this chapter is shorter than the others (I felt the scene needed to be posted without another one tacked on.  
> Mention of death, and that's it!

April 18, 1954. The ten year anniversary of my death.  
I guess it’s to be expected that I’d be emotional.  
I’m not sad that I’m dead, I suppose. I am a spirit now, and I can help the children of the world for much longer now. Though...I almost feel as if it doesn’t _matter _because I can’t even interact with a child unless they believe in me. I sort of miss the resistance fighters. And Liza, my best friend before the war. But it’s kind of surprising that Jack is emotional too.__  
We’re on top of my old apartment building, lying back and looking at the stars. I can practically hear Jack’s thoughts racing through his head. So fast that I’m starting to feel a cool breeze whooshing around my head, pulling hair out of my braids.  
“Hey,” I say, snuggling closer into his chest, “What are you thinking about? I’d prefer not to have a blizzard right now.” It’s strange that I feel so warm with him, when he’s always said he’s freezing to the touch.  
He stiffens for a second, and almost hesitantly wraps his arm around me. “I just...feel bad feeling happy that you’re dead. But if you’d never killed yourself I never would have met you.”  
I laugh and whack his chest. “I’m happy you’re happy I’m dead.”  
He flinches, and chuckles back. We lie there for a while, until Jack reaches his other hand towards my stomach and traces something with one finger. A line of frost appears in the shape of a heart, curling outward all around my abdomen. He kisses my temple and looks away.  
I curl into his side again and rest my head on his chest, closing my eyes for a quick nap before Jack has to leave for the Southern Hemisphere. God do I love this boy. I want to spend my life with him, I know that, but the fact terrifies me.These feelings are here, and I know that.  
But I don’t understand them. It’s not something I’ve felt before. I know It’s love but...what kind?  
And what am I supposed to do about it?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again at the Krispy Kreme.  
> No warnings this chapter! Not any standard ones anyway. Remember you can always ask me to tag.

I have a strange habit of tiptoeing through houses even though no one can hear me. Jack always teases me for it even though he would probably do the same thing if he couldn’t fly.  
There’s a little boy sitting in the kitchen and drinking a glass of water. I run through languages in my mind and remember I’m in Japan. _“It’s past midnight,”_ I say, _“What are you doing up?”_  
He doesn’t respond, of course, but I swear I see his eyes flicker towards me.  
A little golden man appears next to the boy. I’m about to jump on him and strike before I realize this man has the same color and iridescence as the dream sand I watch tear across the sky every night.  
Sandman wags his finger and touches the boy’s forehead to knock him out. He looks at me and winks before conjuring a small bear to pick up the boy and carry him to his bed. As soon as I look back at where Sandman was standing though, he’s gone.  
…  
I was born in Germany, raised in Denmark, and died in Holland (traveling all around western Europe with the resistance), but I do greatly enjoy spending time in America. Especially the little town in Pennsylvania Jack frequents called Burgess.  
There’s a man there, named Jules. He believes in Jack Frost.  
Though, Jack doesn’t know that yet.  
Jules doesn’t believe in me, but I don’t mind as much. I’m not really as desperate for believers as he is.  
Then again, I wasn’t without them for 232 years.  
Jules is 20 years old, and I’m still not sure how exactly he came to believe in Jack as I can’t talk to him. I assume he was just a child with a big imagination who heard “Jack Frost nipping at your nose” and ran with it. Maybe I’ll introduce them someday.  
But there’s another reason I love Burgess.  
Jack takes me skating there, on a pond in the middle of the woods. I didn’t really go ice skating when I was alive, because my mother and father were always busy, and then when Vater died of hypothermia Muttur was terrified of the cold.  
I always liked the cold. Maybe because I hated Vater. But I always felt comforted by winter wind and snow.  
I always felt like they were giving me a hug.  
So when Jack taught me how to skate barefoot back in 1946 I fell in love.  
That is, with skating. Me being in love with Jack is a can of worms I have welded shut and buried deep inside my chest.  
Sometimes when we go skating there are other little girls and boys wobbling around the ice with us.  
When that happens, I force Jack to double the already magically enforced ice.  
I may love the cold, but their little hearts and lungs definitely do not.  
But starting snowball fights and shooting across the ice on my stomach like a penguin is some of the most fun I can have as an invisible immortal who feels bad sneaking into libraries and movie theatres without paying.  
Jack has been neglecting the Midwest in his scheduled USA snowstorms, so he has to leave our skating day earlier than I’d like (though what I‘d like is for him to never leave my side so maybe I’m not the most accurate judge of his time with me). I decide to follow Mollyanne to school when she leaves the pond where she’d been eating lunch.  
There’s only one room in the schoolhouse, so it’s definitely much smaller than the ones I attended when I was growing up. There’s only 7 kids in Molly’s age group, which seems like the going average in this town.  
I’m incredibly fond of all of them. And I’ve only known them for an hour.  
Two teenagers are sitting very close together and whispering to each other. James Bennett and Emily Phaiah. I’m not quite sure what they’re talking about but I think I saw them holding hands when they walked in from their lunch break together.  
A few of the very little kids are latched on to their teacher for warmth and they don’t seem to be planning on letting go anytime soon.  
I smile. I’m surrounded by little ones, and I can help them. This is where I belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muttur=Mother, Vater=Father in German.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD guys I'm so sorry this didn't go up on Friday. I was literally home for 29 minutes total this weekend and my phone broke last week. This is really short too, which was planned but now I feel bad about it. Warnings for insecurity.  
> I love you all.

Forest green eyes that reveal burning passion, anger, and love to all they can trust. Long, silky jet black hair in two braids down her back. Pale, almost albino white skin. A quiet demeanor, ruled by logic yet dominated by emotion.  
That gorgeous (and short) red dress, the white cardigan he gave her, and weathered brown ankle boots with knives tucked into them.  
All in all, Kathleen is the most beautiful girl he’s ever met.  
Which only furthers his firm opinion that he’s definitely not good enough for her at all. He hasn’t even had a believer. Not in 243 years (unless you count her). Clearly he’s not deserving of them, and The Man in the Moon and the Universe threw him some sort of bone when he was there for Kathleen to meet after she died. That’s probably all they would ever give him.   
They definitely wouldn’t throw him the girl of his dreams with her liking him back.  
So he’ll soldier on, hold on to their friendship and never let go.  
He’s not sure even his immortality could keep his broken heart beating if he ever lost her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I didn't post last week! I've been really sick and my computer broke so I've been typing and editing non-stop on my new phone and school computers. Which takes a while. So this is last week's, and this week's should go up tonight or tomorrow because I'm still editing it. (Also I spent ages researching whether or not Kathleen would say fuck so, like, you're welcome lol.)  
> Warnings for basically canon-typical violence, and like, I guess injury/sickness? Also uh, Kathleen mentions someone thinking she was "slow" and stupid. That's pretty typical of the time, and definitely doesn't reflect my opinions of neurodivergent people. (I'm also not neurotypical, so this isn't just me covering my ass.)

I’m currently trudging through the slush and half-melted ice on the roads of a small town in northeast Connecticut, and not enjoying it at all.  
Jack had gotten himself into trouble with some spring spirits, nasty little things, bright green and purple hair, dress, and paint all over them and permanently condescending and attitudes. They’d taken him “into custody”.  
They sent to find a seed for the endangered flower he’d accidentally killed with his frost patterns. Apparently there was one in the greenhouse of an absolutely mad old woman in this area, which is, I haven’t mentioned, about 800 miles from where Jack and the spirits are.  
I’m definitely going to kill him.  
Even though there’s still snow on the ground, it’s hot and humid. I suppose the spirits taking away Jack’s staff might be the reason why. My inhuman cross-country speed can’t save me from getting mud all over my legs and dress, or nearly drowning in quicksand when I tripped over a tree root and fell face first into a pool of it.  
I’m about ready to burst with rage. I just want to get this seed and free Jack so I can get the hell out of here and take a bath.  
…  
The woman can’t see me, obviously. But as I creep around the greenhouse looking for the plant, I swear I can feel her watching me.  
Finally I find it, and snatch it out of the pouch it was stored in, and take off running back towards the forest I came from.  
I trip again.  
But this time I end up falling down the side of a hill and landing in in disgusting mud puddle.  
I sigh and begin trudging back up the hill and on to the path. When I finally make it to the top, I do my best to get some of the mud off me, but it’s a lost cause. I sigh for, probably the 67th time today and start making me way down the trail I’d previously blazed.  
For the love of all the saints, and God, and Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, could I just get home without falling again?  
…  
It turns out I could not, but surprisingly I feel all my rage fade away as I finally see Jack’s face. He may be a complete idiot, but he does make me feel safe and happy. I’m just glad he’s safe.  
And so, to make sure he stays safe, I stumble into the spring spirits’ lair and hand them the seed so they can duplicate it.  
They don’t acknowledge me, but one of them flicks her wrist and the vines holding Jack captive fall away. He slips out quickly, and as soon as he’s gone the vines snap back into the cage shape they’d been in previously. Jack rushes over to me, and pulls me into a hug. He cradles my head, and wraps his other arm around my waist tightly as I jump and wrap my legs around his hips. My arms fasten around his neck and shoulders in an instant and for a second (as I bury my head in his shoulder and inhale the scent of a crisp winter morning), I think that if neither of us ever let go, I’d be the happiest dead spirit girl in the entire world.  
“It’s a good thing you’re so tiny.” he whispers.  
“You’re only a foot taller.”  
“Only. Plus you weigh about 30 pounds less.”  
“Starvation will do that to you.”  
But as I feel him start to tremble a little, I drop my legs and look into his eyes. They’re ringed with purple, the normal piercing blue skies dull and full of tears. The tears, I suppose, are from being held in the cage ( _“And missing you,”_ my brain supplies unhelpfully, _“He’d never love you,”_ the other part of my brain replies, keeping me in check).  
But why does he look so tired?  
“Your staff!” I nearly screech.  
I whip around the face the spirits. “WHERE IS IT!?” I seethe, “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO WITH IT!?”  
One of them turns to me with a bored look on its face.  
“Where is what?” it says, in its sickly sweet, patronizing little voice.  
“His _staff_!” I yell back, pointing at Jack, who is now leaning on me heavily, and looking like he’s about to pass out.  
“Oh,” another responds, sounding like a teacher I once had, talking to me as if I were “slow” and she thought I was stupid.  
“Well, we disposed of it. It’s simply too dangerous to our work for it to be intact in Mr. Frost’s hands.”  
I can feel my rage bubbling to the surface.  
My vision turns red, and I feel my face heating up and my hands clench into shaking fists by my side.  
“Well,” I say, matching their stuck up tones, “Where the _fuck_ is it?”  
And suddenly, they all turn to me and say in unison, “Snapped in half and thrown out the back.”  
I rush out the door, eyes full of tears, half dragging Jack by my side. I finally find his staff and press it into his hands.  
“You have to use frost...and...and...and fix it!”  
“I can’t. I’m not strong enough without it.”  
“Come on, yes you are, just focus.”  
I lay my hands on his cheeks and try to give him strength, and courage, and faith.  
He holds his staff together, closes his eyes, and tries. Once, it doesn’t work, twice, thrice, and then, on the fourth try, the bonds forms and the staff is whole again.  
I see some of the light begin to come back to his eyes. But he still needs sleep.  
Jack calls upon the wind, and shakily flies us to Burgess. The instant we touch down he collapses to the ground and falls asleep. I lay down next to him, burying my head into his chest and closing my eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, indulgent character/relationship development.  
> So, it took longer than I thought to edit this because a big piece had to be rewritten. Sorry ‘bout that.  
> Warnings for non-graphic implied sexual content.

I wake up the next morning before Jack. His arms are wrapped tightly around my waist and mine are latched onto his shoulders.  
After I extract myself, I try my best not to disturb him as I stand up and stretch. Looking down at myself, I realize I’m still covered in muck from yesterday. Looking around, I notice the small river that feeds into the pond.  
Making my way over, I carefully strip off my clothes, undergarments, and boots, taking great care to assure my knives are safe. My braids come out, for the first time in years. I wade deep into the cold water, but I don’t shiver. I’ve grown accustomed to the cold.  
Quickly, I dunk my head underwater and rub at my scalp, trying to get all the dirt off, combing through my hair with my fingers before finally emerging. Scrubbing all the dirt off my legs and arms, taking care to reach everywhere on my back, takes a few minutes. I’ve just finished getting the gunk off my teeth as best I can without a toothbrush when I look up and see Jack standing seven meters away where the woods end, stock still and bright red in the face.  
On instinct, I rise, exposing my torso even further as I forget I am currently stark naked. He turns even redder, if possible, and looks up as if praying to the Man in the Moon (he believes in no God). He shuts his eyes before facing in my direction again and slowly coming closer.  
“I’m really sorry for seeing you...like this,” he says, “You surprised me and I just froze. No pun intended.”  
I grin as I reach for my dress to start washing. A part of me, bigger than I’d like to admit, is screaming at me to grab him, rip off his clothes and pull him into the river with me as I beg him to take me. As tempting as that option is, Jack would never want that. Not with me. So I respond simply.  
“It’s not your fault.”  
“It is a little.”  
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to be indecent for a while longer. I have to wash my clothes.”  
He seems to straighten and collect his confidence, “Can I watch?”  
I throw a stick at him.  
“I’ll take that as a no.”  
He jumps into the air and flies of on the wind. I finish cleaning my clothes and wiping the mud off my boots, then hang everything up on tree limbs to dry.  
As I sit on a sunny rock to dry my own hair, I look down at myself. It became fashionable for women to remove the hair from their underarms and legs in America nearly twenty years ago. I never really had the time before to care, and now no one can see me but Jack, who probably doesn’t care either. But I still wonder. Should I? It would likely be permanent. My hair hasn’t grown a bit since I died.  
Maybe if I can get my hands on a safety razor. The only other option would be my knives, and I don’t know how my healing works as a spirit.  
As always, my thoughts eventually turn to Jack. Despite my constant fight with my own thoughts, I have to admit I’m attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be?  
He’s handsome, he's playful, he’s caring, nearly everything about him is perfect. When I close my eyes, I see his crooked smile and the look in his eyes he gets right before I realize the trick he’s played on me. I see the lean frame and strong arms that will hold me tight and protect me at all costs. I see the open heart that weeps every time we see a child we can’t save. I see the man I unwillingly love, who I know would only ever consider me a friend.  
Even though I know my feelings are unrequited, I can’t help but imagine…something.  
Jack, stepping closer to me, removing the cardigan he gave me, then my dress-  
“Kathleen!” Jack yells, snapping me out of my thoughts, “It’s been hours! Are you decent?”  
I shoot up from my rock and scramble to put my dried clothes back on.  
“Just a second! Are you leaving for Chile?”  
“Yeah, are you coming?”  
I grin, “Be right there!”  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are appreciated.


End file.
